In My Dreams
by ParanoiaPoliticianDiva77
Summary: Seventeen years...A suicide note, a house plunged into mourning. When Christine cannot bear it any longer how will all those surrounding her cope? Her children? Her husband? Her Angel? Based on Leroux and ALW.
1. Prologue

* * *

In my dreams I dress in black, the soft layers of coal flowing like silk across my body, dark and enticing.

But in real life I am dressed in the stiff stark white of a virginal, pious, good loving wife of a Vicomte.

In my dreams I see a tall dark figure of mystery, commanding, strong, alluring me towards him, a Knight in black armour.

But in real life I see a tall blonde figure of my husband, sweet, affectionate, giving me everything I could possibly want or need. My White Knight.

In my dreams I live a life of pleasure, the fruits of life offered to me by a serpent in a black mask like velvet, giving in to every deadly temptation.

But in real life I live a life of frivolous balls, laughter, innocent sweets upon my tongue, safe as they are sweet.

In my dreams I am strong, unforgiving as a man, beautiful as a woman, ambitious as can be, devious as the devil.

But in real life I am delicate, kind, merciful as a Queen, pretty as a flower, blasé as can be, honest as an angel.

In my dreams I leave the life of sweet safety I have chosen, I return underground to the devils work with the night as a mask, a mask like black velvet, a mask like his very own. I am masked as he was, I shall forever be masked as he was, is, ever shall be.

And when this mask is removed, it is not only a horrific sight but breaks your heart, my beloved, my husband, I apologise for masquerading myself like this.

It is the only way; I want both and neither, both man and monster, a dilemma worst than your nightmares.

Raoul; sweetness and light, perfection at its best, beauty and safety.

Erik; bitter like chocolate, cloaked in the darkness of night even as the sun rises. He is imperfection at its worst, repulsiveness and danger.

And yet I cannot choose still, though seventeen years have passed and gone since I voiced my own ridiculous choice.

Either choice was ridiculous, neither was rational, I would choose one and forever want the other.

And this is the only way.

In my dreams I dress in black

I'm sorry, I love you both forever, I'm sorry my children; I love you more than life

Christine.

* * *


	2. Chapter One

* * *

"Mother?" Cate called out, walking up the stairs to the upper floor of their townhouse. "Are you awake?" she called out, opening her parent's bedroom door and screamed.

"What is it?!" shouted Charles, dashing out of his room as he heard his sister screaming, entering their parent's bedroom in horror of the pool of crimson blood upon the floor, his mother lying in the centre of it.

"Oh god!" sobbed Cate, dropping to her knee's in the blood, as she leant over the corpse of her mother, blanched pale yellowed skin, vast gashes all the way up her fair arms, dripping of blood.

Charles fainted and Cate's ladies maid, Yolande, appeared at the door at the screaming, wondering what was going on. As she saw the sight before her she crossed herself and picked up sixteen year old Charles and laid him upon the bed.

"Oh dear lord, we better sent a message to le Comte de Chagny immediately" Yolande said nervously, fanning the young Vicomte as Cate cried.

"What is going on?" Sylvain the butler demanded as he entered the room and his face turned ashen as the sight unfolded.

Picking up the hysterical Cate, still sobbing and shaking he carried her to her bedroom, lying her upon her bed then fetched Yolande.

"Look after her while I put Charles in his own room, but first get to fetch Lucette and get her to round up the entire household into the lounge. Also get Isabelle and Henri in with their brother or sister; whoever's the calmest. Don't let the little ones see her. I'm going to get Charles, then send a maid out for the coroner and undertakers." He ordered quietly, trying to remain calm although his mistress lay dead upon the floor. Yolande nodded, soothing Cate all the while.

"Did she...?" Yolande trailed off and Sylvain turned away and mopped his brow.

"I suppose so, she hasn't been fully right for years now, the past year seemed like every step seemed an effort, every day a burden. I guess after losing the last baby she couldn't help but go downhill" he said sadly then rushed out of the room, Yolande rushing downstairs to fetch Lucette.

"Charles?" Sylvain asked quietly as he picked up the adolescent who shook though still out cold. "Why did they have to find her?" he whispered to himself, pitying any child who found their parent dead of their own doing.

He carried the boy to his room and laid him upon the bed, the boy's tutor, Reynaud, awaiting there as Sylvain turned to him.

"Don't let him leave the room. If he wants to see his sister then first check if she's still in hysterics. I want to keep the children out of it, it's awful enough that they found her, I knew that this was not the time for a business trip to occur," Sylvain instructed Reynaud who nodded solemnly.

"Don't worry, he'll be fine" Reynaud reassured him and Sylvain nodded.

"Merci" and left in a hurry. At the bottom of the staircase stood the entire serving staff; the gardeners and the stable boys, the cooks and scullery maids, the chamber maids and footmen, all chattering away to each other, as usual. Christine's personal ladies maid, Rochelle, came forth, her face pale and her hands trembling as she took Sylvain's.

"Is it true?" she asked, hopeful as he eyes lit up. Sylvain sadly shook his head and Rochelle leant against him in shock, faintly aware of the situation as he embraced the shaking young woman.

As Sylvain looked across the crowd of people he realised he could not wait no longer to be the bearer of bad news "People!" he shouted and the crowd slowly quietened to look at him, Rochelle's dry sobs becoming the only sound. "A tragedy has occurred. Sometime this morning our mistress, Comtess Christine Elisabet Daaé De Chagny, took her own life" he gulped and a stunned silence reached his ears, the news the servants thought to be false reaching theirs.

Continuing Sylvain found it harder and harder to speak "It is even more tragic that this morning it was Christine's thirteen year old daughter Cate Josephine De Chagny and sixteen year old son Vicomte Charles Raoul De Chagny that found their mother lying in a pool of her own blood in the bedchamber of the Comte and Comtess." Sylvain cleared his throat "Now as we know, the Comte De Chagny is away in London on business and would not be back until tomorrow evening. A message has been sent and will reach him by noon hopefully." Sylvain felt Rochelle's tears wet his shoulder "Now I've sent Lucette to fetch the coroner and the undertakers. No one is to enter the Comtesses chamber or go near it. Please just tidy downstairs and keep out of the way" he finished off.

The stunned faces of the servants stared at him, as if awaiting instruction even though he had already given them.

"Oh god" he sighed in exasperation.

* * *

Meanwhile up in the children's room, Charles had awoken and promptly been ill all across the expensive carpet. The four year old Isabelle was quietly hugging her sister Cate, who had calmed down, not speaking a word. Eight year old Henri was sitting next to Charles, who was a mild shade of green, the sixteen year olds pride and ego lost as he trembled.

Little Henri was the first to speak as the governess left the room to have a quick word with Sylvain.

"Is mama dead?" he asked quietly and the three children looked at him, despair prevalent in both older siblings eyes.

There was no need to answer.

* * *


	3. Chapter Two

_Hi, I finally decided what direction I'd like to take this. I'm trying to make it different to a lot of my other stuff. There are a lot of outside influences, such as later on there's a Gavroche character from Les Miserables and references to the Moulin Rouge._

* * *

**Chapter Two**

The funeral was simple and small; just close friends and family invited. The Comte De Chagny was inconsolable, not having uttered a word since he heard of his beautiful wife's suicide. Charles, Cate, Isabelle and Henri all reacted badly; Henri was a mess, tantrums and screaming fits over the tiniest things. Isabelle was young but understood what had happened and sadly sat on her father's lap for most of the following week. Cate sat quietly at the piano, playing every sad piece she owned, composing new ones when she got bored with the others, continuously sobbing as she played. Charles wasn't heard of for the entire week, locked in his bedchamber, occasionally the sounds of his violin coming melodiously through the house, always in a dissonant or minor key.

The servants carried out their chores as always but without their mistress the large townhouse seemed to have lost its shine.

Sylvain spent most of his time attempting to comfort the family, his formal position as butler forgotten as he cheered up Isabelle and took Henri on walks around Paris.

But Sylvain could see the children were not going to be truly happy for a long time. As they got themselves ready on Saturday, ready for the funeral, things were not going too well.

"Mademoiselle Cate," Yolande said wearily as her charge sat down unhappily upon her bed for the third time as Yolande tried to help her dress "Please stand up, I'm sorry but I must help you into this dress" she soothed and Cate nodded quietly, standing solemnly as her ladies maid did up the black muslin dress.

Meanwhile, Reynaud, Charles' valet, pounded on his charges bedchamber door.

"Charles! We're going to be late!" he shouted as he knocked on the door once more.

"I'm not going" came Charles' stiff voice and Reynaud groaned with frustration.

"Honestly Charles, enough is enough. Your mother is dead and I daresay you must pay your respects to her at her funeral" he said in quiet anger but nothing would seem to entice the young Vicomte.

"No, I'll pay my respects to her in my own way" he said angrily and Sylvain tapped Reynaud on the shoulder.

"I don't think you're going to get anywhere this morning. Just leave him be; if he wants to come he'll come" he said quietly and Reynaud nodded, leaving for the servants quarters where he could finish getting himself ready.

"Come on Isabelle darling" Lucette cooed, holding out a white muslin dress but Isabelle shook her head.

"No I want mama" she said stubbornly, tears filling her eyes and Lucette bit down a lump in her throat.

"Mama isn't here anymore, she is with the angels" she said sadly and Isabelle began to cry.

"Why must she be gone? Why did the angels have to take her away?" she screeched and Lucette picked her up, soothing the child who cried angrily into her shoulder as she turned to her brother.

"Henri please put on your shoes" Lucette said, and Henri scowled at her.

"No, I hate these shoes, I hate this stupid suit and this stupid day! I hate everything" he fumed and Lucette sighed unhappily.

"Henri" she said sternly, pushing a black shoe towards him with her foot, Isabelle still in her arms.

"Fine" he glowered, putting on his shoes then holding out his feet to the maid "Tie the laces" he ordered grimly and she groaned in frustration.

"Monsieur De Chagny" Sylvain said carefully as he opened the door to Raoul's bedchamber, finding the Comte sitting silently on his bed, staring out the window, his face empty of emotion.

Walking warily into the room, Sylvain set about tying back the white lace curtains at the window, the bright glary sunlight bursting into the room, and Raoul did not flinch at the sunlight in his eyes.

Quietly, Raoul moved to a chair while Sylvain made the bed and cleaned the room, putting away a bottle of brandy and assorted clothes about the room. Raoul watched but didn't take any of it in, with every object he saw _her_.

Sylvain jumped when he spoke; the Comte had not spoken since his arrival home.

"Do you think she could've ever been happy with me?" Raoul said suddenly, staring at a hair comb in his lap; a rose shaped silver comb that Christine would often fix back her wild curls with.

"I think she was perfectly happy with you sir, I think there was something else that haunted her, something that no one could've prevented" Sylvain said cautiously and Raoul nodded slowly, running his hand through his short blonde hair.

"There was, I just never thought it could hurt her still after so many years, the pain of anything calms down after time, I suffered through the death of both my parents and older brother, but I've learnt to live with it" he said slowly, as if he were trying to figure out a puzzle, a maths problem.

"Sadness always seemed to claim the Comtess when you were on business; I think you were the only thing that kept her happy. I would constantly find her holding Isabelle and Henri in the past months, crying quietly. There was something that wasn't right all through the years; you both were orphans and went through a great ordeal at the Paris Opera, that wild kidnapper and the death of Madame Valerius" Sylvain suggested, coming to sit down with Raoul who averted his eyes, still staring at the silver comb.

"That kidnapper, she loved him" he said quietly and Sylvain looked at him in shock.

"Monsieur! She loved you with all her heart" he exclaimed and Raoul nodded his head, pulling out a piece of paper.

"Yes, I had her heart" he said sadly, passing the piece of paper to Sylvain "but it wasn't enough"

"How could she want more" Sylvain muttered, beginning to read the whimsical suicide note of the Comtess, his eyes widening at the poetic writing.

"You don't know what truly happened at the Opera do you?" Raoul said blankly and Sylvain shook his head.

"All I know is that a man, obsessed with the Comtess, kidnapped her, killed your brother and forced her into marrying him. But when you attempted to save her he showed mercy and allowed you two to leave. He died soon afterwards. That's the gossip" Sylvain shrugged and Raoul chuckled, shaking his head.

"There's more to it than that" he shook his head "But not today; could you please post this" he requested, pulling out a letter and Sylvain nodded. "Not in the normal post please; go to the Giry's flat in Rue de Rivoli, opposite the Tuileries. Give it to Madame Giry, she'll know"

And with this strange request Sylvain nodded.

"Yes, I'll get one of the maids to-" he began but Raoul shook his head.

"No, you take it. I trust you not to read it" he said firmly and Sylvain bit his lip; time was going and the funeral began in an hour.

"Yes sir"

* * *

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust" the priest said as the casket was lowered into the grave, Raoul staring blankly at it, the event hardly registering in his head.

The crowd that turned up the Comtess' funeral was twice as large as expected; friends from the ballet and chorus, admirers of the opera singer, friends of her father, all turned up to see thirty four year old Comtess Christine Elisabet Daaé De Chagny, the Swedish singer with a voice of an angel, be lowered into the cool earth that chilly spring.

The Ebnois family turned up; Marguerite Ebnois, formerly known as Meg Giry, her husband Maric and their two children Marielle and Alain. Marielle was only fourteen but was a good friend of Cate and Charles. And sensing Charles' despair she moved to him, taking his hand as he silently rested his head upon her shoulder, the grief having struck him taciturn. Alain was only ten, moving to comfort Isabelle, who clung to her father's hand.

"I can't believe she's gone, all this time, she never dared tell me what was wrong" whispered Meg sadly to Raoul, who nodded, wrenched speechless like his son. Meg eased into her husband's arms, quiet and broken over her foster sister's silent turmoil. Crying into Marics shoulder, Meg listened as the ceremony continued.

And as Raoul looked up to the crowd as the dirt was shovelled in, remembering all those years ago he stood there, fighting that man. And as he remembered this he saw, through the crowd, a man in all black, wearing a black mask that covered the right side of his face, a black fedora hat upon his head.

Removing the hat the man stared at Raoul, nodding once as if to acknowledge him and show his respects. Raoul dipped his head back, lowering his eyes back to _her_ grave, unable to look at those deep green eyes any longer.

"Papa" came Isabelle's little voice and Raoul picked her up, holding his beautiful fair haired daughter to him.

"What is it Izzy?" he asked quietly and she wrapped her chubby baby arms about him, kissing him on the cheek.

"You still have us" she said and Raoul clung to her tightly.

"Yes, I do" he said quietly.

* * *


	4. Chapter Three

Chapter Three Four Years Later 

"I think I love you Cate" Rodrigue said quietly and Cate giggled, kissing him softly.

"Shhh! Someone will hear" she giggled and Rodrigue's arms fell impulsively about her tiny frame, running his hands through her light golden hair, out and long in its natural ringlets, not unlike her mother's own curls, except in the way hers were as dark as chocolate and Cate's were golden as the sun.

"Well then" he said "We'll have to be quiet, and you must try not to scream" he smiled, kissing her again.

"Why would I scream?" she giggled flirtatiously and Rodrigue's hands began to slip down her waist.

"Oh you'll be screaming" he purred "In delight"

"But Rodrigue!" Cate exclaimed mockingly "you are a mere servant, a stable master and I" she posed with her hand over her forehead "daughter of a wealthy Comte" and he chuckled.

"Come here you" pressing her against the wall of the stable and her arms wrapped about him tightly, his hands pushing down on her corset, over her stomach as she sighed.

"Oh Rodrigue"

"Father, I think I have fallen in love" Charles announced as he strode into the living room, the Comte looking up from his newspaper with interest.

"Oh? Who is it this week?" he asked and Charles put his hands on his hips, one eyebrow raised sceptically.

"This is serious this time papa" Charles said firmly and Raoul smiled.

"Of course; who is the lucky girl?" he asked and Charles beamed.

"Bernadette Poltene, daughter of the English Duke of Norfolk" he announced proudly and Raoul frowned.

"She hardly knows you" he said in confusion "You've met her several times at parties and balls and danced with her. How do you know you love her?"

"How do you know what your destiny is? How do you know why the sky is blue? That's silliest question anyone has ever asked me papa, if I say I love a girl I obviously know I love a girl" he protested and Raoul shrugged.

"Invite her and her family over for a dinner party then" he shrugged "I have no opposition to the match"

"Papa, you have no opposition to anything"

"Oh Rodrigue..." Cate giggled naughtily and Rodrigue stopped suddenly.

"Am I going too fast for you?" he asked in concern and Cate kissed him, her hands wandering about his body sensually.

"Not at all" she sighed happily.

"Good" he growled, moving his mouth to her neck.

"Marielle?" Charles asked when his close companion Marielle Ebnois, appeared at the door in a dainty blue morning dress, corset tied tightly about her thin waist, bright rouge upon her pale face. Her normally long and straight strawberry blonde hair was curled and pinned nicely. The girl giggled.

"Jeanne Du Favorr and her friends took me shopping yesterday while our mothers gossiped over lunch. What do you think? Am I not stunning?" she giggled, grabbing Charles' hand and pulling him into the comfortable townhouse.

"You look...different" Charles stuttered, looking at her curiously. It wasn't that Marielle looked bad, it was just a shock to see her so stylish when normally she dressed simply, no rouge, hair pinned plainly. Normally she was just pretty little Marielle, his best friend and one who laughed at socialite types such as Jeanne Du Favorr. "I'm just a little surprised; I thought you detested Jeanne Du Favorr?"

"What?" Marielle said in confusion, obviously ignoring the question as she entered her bedroom, sorting through piles of new dresses draped across her armchair, bed, desk and chairs. Finally she found what she was searching for and turned to hold a silver chain in front of Charles' face.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she held the trinket before his eyes and Charles realised hanging upon the silver chain was a dainty silver ring; a large diamond in the centre surrounded by small light pink diamonds and light sapphires. It looked like an engagement ring.

"Oh god! Is that an engagement ring!" shrieked Charles in horror and Marielle laughed in shock.

"No silly! Maman said she found it in the Opera Garnier back when she was principle dancer. She said now I'm a woman I can have it" Marielle laughed and Charles shook his head at her, bemused at his friend.

"Where is your mother?" Charles looked about worriedly; he and Marielle had been friends since birth, their mothers having grown up together in the Opera Garnier after his mother was orphaned. And he and Marielle had grown up best friends and playmates, always in each other's rooms singing, making up frightening horror stories and playing games. But since he had hit eighteen years old and started to grow up, Meg had not allowed him to be allowed in Marielle's room. Something to do with propriety. Charles had thought it ridiculous; Marielle was his best friend, a childhood playmate, not some love interest he planned to seduce.

"Oh don't worry, she's out for lunch with papa" Marielle waved away with her hand as she replaced the trinket in her jewel box.

"Well, as long as she doesn't arrive back early, it's so silly this rule. Where else are we able to be alone? It's not as if I plan to seduce you or anything" Charles laughed and Marielle laughed as well.

"I know, it's ridiculous" she smiled, looking at her feet.

As she watched Charles walk away from the townhouse, back down the street, passing the Tuileries palace, back towards his house, Marielle felt a feeling of guilt hit her stomach in pain.

He did not feel that way about her, he did not return the feelings. Charles could not feel the way she did; he saw her as a friend and nothing else, his reaction about her appearance that day proved it, his horror as seeing her dressed like the grown woman she'd become.

Marielle was only eighteen years old, two years junior of Charles. But he had always been there, and it was upon the death of his mother, the Comtess, that Marielle first realised the intensity of her feelings for her confidante.

It was now thirteen minutes to five o'clock in the evening and as the light began to fade from the city, Marielle reflected upon her afternoon spent with Charles.

They sat in her room for a lengthy hour, discussing that of Charles' unnoticed love for the beautiful Bernadette Poltene, drinking tea and rushing from the room as they saw her mother arrive home from luncheon with her father.

After that they walked in the garden, arms entwined as they gossiped quietly away from the watchful eye of Meg. They had been thick as thieves as long as they could remember, always scheming together, away from their siblings. While Isabelle, Cate, Henri and Alain all passed their time in a group, beckoning Marielle and Charles to join them, the pair had preferred to spend their hours alone, talking, playing, joking and plotting.

Marielle was never very popular with the other girls, types like Jeanne Du Favorr always using her for their own purposes. Because her mother had been an artist, her father a patron and admirer, they always considered Marielle not really a part of the aristocracy, not a real member of high society.

And whenever Marielle complained of this to Charles he laughed, reassuring Marielle that Jeanne Du Favorr was nothing but a lizard wearing a discoloured wig. He often referred to books and history, favouring the revolutionary side of things, reading memoirs and masterpieces such as _"Les Miserables"._ And Charles always knew how to cheer her up accompanied with useless facts and figures from history, reminding Marielle that their country had overthrown the monarchist government in 1789 and decapitated those of the aristocracy. He asked her what was better, to be rejected by a useless flirt like Jeanne or to be accepted into high society only to have you head chopped off.

This argument always ended in giggles.

Charles too had not become too popular with socialites such as Jeanne and her friends, but not through his birth. His mother's family, the Daaé's had been well respected throughout Sweden and he was to become Comte De Chagny one day. But though he was relatively handsome and clever, amiable and flirtatious when he wished to be, Charles did not accept the ways of pretence in society. If he did not like someone's character or their treatment of other he would often ignore such people, creating much tension at parties and gatherings. He saw such pretence as lying, using someone and leading someone on, as Jeanne often did to countless men.

Charles was moral, upholding his values and friendships above trivial matters such as class status. He often spoke of revolution, like that of the Reign of Terror or the barricades of 1832, righteous and indignant; his father did not know what to do. Charles was so much like his mother in his compassion, his fierce values and friendships, his honesty and faith in others that this sudden wave of ambition and anger, wanting to change something, always wanting to do something about the issues of the time.

Marielle thought upon this wearily, turning to the mirror as she wiped the rouge from her face hopelessly; he had not noticed her when she was her normal self and did not accept her when she tried to be something special. Maybe he just never would feel that way about her?

And this Bernadette! Marielle fumed, remembering the day she elegantly greeted Bernadette Poltene to a dinner party at her home for her father's birthday. She remembered the quiet girl looking upon her haughtily then moving onwards without a single word.

That was one month ago, Charles did not talk to her once that evening. Marielle did notice later in the evening however, when she approached him hoping she might be invited to dance, that she could not gain Charles' attention for several minutes. He was gawping at Bernadette who was dancing with her brother. Marielle had tried to talk him out of it but it was lust at first sight.

Throughout the years before his mother's death, Charles had always flirted openly with many girls, a little young perhaps but Marielle often caught Charles stealing a kiss from one girl or another at certain parties and picnics. The girls of society loved him then of course, before he had grown so serious.

But after the Comtess died so tragically, Marielle noticed a change in Charles. It was as if his mother's actions had changed how he perceived the world; he no longer took oneself for granted and made sure there was no pretence. His mother's strength, fighting to put up a happy pretence for her children so they would not become worried, seemed to have made Charles reason that if others put up such pretences, then other tragedies may happen, if others were not true to themselves.

He never would admit this to anyone, not even Marielle, but she had her suspicions. After his mother died, something else hit Charles and he grew up more than his years in those few months. He stopped the flirtations, the romances he used to flit away his hours with, becoming closer with Marielle, as if she were the only one he trusted.

And yet he did not love her?

The only thing Marielle could see that was good about this infatuation with Bernadette Poltene, was that Charles had not been so filled with this love for years now, and it made him happy as it gave him hope once more.

Whatever he saw in that Bernadette, as Marielle was unsure of this particular factor, it was doing the poor boy some good.


End file.
